Oberon's Gift Page 2

  “You see, George, it’s a little game we Good Fairies play. When it gets dull here on earth, we like to stir things up. Every once in a while, just for the fun of it, we select someone. Our candidates are carefully screened. They must meet certain qualifications.” He waited for this to sink in, then pointing a finger at George, he said very positively,

  “This time, George, we’ve seleted...YOU!”

  Again George’s jaw began to dangle in disbelief.

  “Here’s how it works,” continued the man in green. “We grant you three wishes. I’m sure you’ve heard that one before. Whatever you want, though we sometimes make a suggestion or two.” Oberon, the leprechaun warmed to his subject as he saw excitement begin to show in George’s face. “Then we just sit back and see how you turn out. That’s the best part o the game. You can imagine the wagering that goes on back home. It’s a gamble. Oh, we’ve come up with some real lu-lu’s, That damned German paperhanger was a source of great embarrassment to us. All in all, though there have been some outstanding successes!”

  “Are you really for real?” squeaked the graduate student.

  You said you’d at least try to believe, George,” admonished Oberon.

  “I’ve tried...but it’s all so unbelievable!”

  Concerned that he might lose this young man, and thereby lose the wager, he resignedly continued his sales pitch.

  “Listen, George, and this is important! The way we play our game is crucial. You do get three wishes, but to make the game more interesting, the rules committee instructs us to dole out the powers one at a time. Surely, you can see how this adds to the suspense.”

  George nodded vaguely.

  Oh brother! groaned the leprechaun to himself. Then he continued. “Tonight you get your first wish, Then, after this meeting, I will show up periodically to grant the other two. Get the picture?”

  Still not totally convinced, George grunted in assent.

  “The rules committee also retains the right to revoke the remaining wishes if our candidate becomes difficult or causes trouble, as in the case of the aforementioned dictator. Also, if necessary, they may suggest a wish, if the chosen fails to come up with something. You must see how all this could make the game more exciting for both the candidate and the folks back in Neverneverland”?

  George replied, “I guess....”

  Hoping he was finally getting through to his subject, the leprechaun made a final plea.

  “George, this is the chance of a life time! Don’t pass it up!”

  Fearing ostracism by the committee or lost points in the game if he failed, the good fairy gestured desperately toward the centerfold still draped over the young man’s lap.

  In his exhausted state, George finally decided the only way he was going to get some peace was to give in to the bizarre little man’s unbelievable arguments. Then, maybe this Oberon character would leave him alone.

  “Okay...Okay. What do I have to lose?” he murmured giving up and giving in.

  “Nothing”, agreed the relieved Oberon, “and you have so much to gain! Now”, he urged, “ How about that first wish?”

  Still pretty sure he’s dreaming, George thought for a moment before answering.

  “Well...face it. I’m a poor starving student. I had to hock the VW to get Lydia into this snooty hospital.” He blushes. “And though I love the heck out of Lydia, we’re not even married. The rent is way overdue on our little dump, and now, with a growing family, we need a bigger place.” He paused and cleared the fog from his voice. “If any of this madness is possible, I guess my first wish has to be money. I’m not greedy, but a few thou right now would sure come in handy.”

  Though Oberon cringed at the young man’s stubborn doubt that fairies exist, he came back with, “Wealth, yes, that's usually the first wish.” He waved his wand over George and some sparkles slid down the young man’s cheek. Though he felt the tingle, he really didn’t feel any different. Perhaps riches had to grow on one.

  “Well, George, that’s your first wish. We’ll meet again. How soon depends on you.”

  Oberon eyed the young man in the chair and wondered just what sort of choice he and his brothers had made. He knew the human spirit often contains that elusive spark of greatness. It lies hidden within the deep recesses of the mind. Though it may yearn to break free, it’s usually stifled by life’s petty responsibilities or destroyed by everyday frustrations. All it really needs is a little encouragement. Oberon and his brethren had furnished the first measure of fuel, now with any luck, they could ignite their candidate with the prime ingredient--Opportunity! The Good Fairies planned to put George’s political and language skills to good use later, but wanted to have a little fun with him first.

  Oberon concentrated his extraordinary mental powers on his subject.

  “George, I read in your thoughts that your only concern is for your Lydia and the boy-child who is going to enter this mad world in...” The leprechaun checked his green-glowing, digital watch.“...in exactly five minutes and twenty seconds.”

  George caught the Good Fairy’s meaning and beamed from ear to ear.

  “A boy? Oh boy!” He yelped.

  “Yes, a boy,” Then a thought apparently struck the amazing Oberon. “Oh...before I forget. You are going to come into a wee bit of money almost immediately. When you do, your common sense will dictate you only spend it for the welfare of your new family. Use the money wisely, George, but don’t be be afraid to take a little gamble.”

  “So, that’s it. Good-by, George and good luck!” the little man in green concluded, as he waved the wand one last time over the young man’s head.

  This time George’s eyes became heavy and his head bent forward as he fell into a deep sleep. He seemed to float in the darkness for a long time. Then a blinding light cut through the black--a bright spotlight. The light was followed by a whole panorama of sights and sounds that came sweeping though his mind: A voice singing a clear high note; roaring, screaming applause; banners waving; crowds cheering. The visions went on and on, though they may have been only moments in actual time.

  TWO

  The dream-pictures and voices danced and leaped through his brain, until another sound violated his sleep. It came from far outside the fantasy world in which he swam. Somewhere, in the distance, someone was calling his name.

  “Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter, please wake up!”

  It was a long way back, but George finally roused himself and looked into a vaguely familiar, friendly face. The mass confusion of the preceding hours came back to him: The panic stricken moment when Lydia announced she was in labor; the fear they’d never make the University clinic in time,; and their last minute dash to this high class private hospital. There was the instant regret when the night clerk turned out to be the reincarnation of the Wicked Witch of the West, who refused them asylum without a deposit, while Lydia moaned in pain. A moment of inspiration had prompted George to offer the pink slip to his old VW. The crone had practically cackled with malevolent glee as she accepted it, then grudgingly called the nurse who now smiled so warmly down at him.

  “Yes...y--es. Lydia?” George croaked. “How is she?...Th...the baby?”

  “Your...um...ah...wife is fine, and you are the father of beautiful eight pound boy,” smiled the nurse.

  `”A boy? Whoa!” breathed George.

  George’s heart was so full of new-father pride he didn’t bother to correct his and Lydia’s marital status.

  “Are they okay? May I see them now?!”

  “They’re both fine--just fine.” the nurse thought for a moment before she continued. “Well, ordinarily I’d say you should let your...ah...wife rest. But she came through labor well. She’s a healthy girl and recovered quickly. I guess it’ll be all right if you don’t stay to long. Just take this hall to the end and turn left...room one forty-five.”

  George missed her amused, slightly disapproving lo
ok as he thanked her. Resisting the impulse to run, he hurried down the hallway, quickly found the number and pushed open the door.

  George entered the small room and saw Lydia sitting up, bolstered by pillows on the adjustable bed. She held a small creature in her ams who was sucking and smacking at her breast.

  The soft light from the lamp fell across the bed and Lydia appeared to him like a vision; like a madonna in an old painting, all white and pure.

  “Oh wow!” he exclaimed in a whisper.

  Lydia looked up and smiled at him. “George, come and meet your son.”

  George walked hesitantly, almost reverently to the bed and knelt beside it, without taking his eyes off the miraculous pair.

  He gazed at the tiny creature she held--so shriveled and wrinkled and beautiful. The tiny fingers were clenched and the eyes were closed in secure ecstasy as he sucked. George’s own eyes misted over and Lydia could read his feelings. She took one of George’s hands and pressed it to her lips.

  “Big George and little George, she whispered.

  “Lydia,” he replied softly. “I love you so much!”

  They stayed like that for a long time until the tiny boy-child finished his breakfast and fell asleep. The nurse came in and took the baby away.

  George sat on the bed and Lydia took him in her arms as she had the baby. She kissed him and laid his head on her soft bosom.

  Suddenly, he started to chuckle and Lydia squirmed uncomfortably. “George, stop that”

  Your beard...it tickles. What’s so funny, anyway?”

  “Oh, just a dream I had. One of those fabulous, incredible dreams that never come true.”

  Distracted from what he was saying by her own thoughts, she whispered hesitantly.

  “George?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I hope you wont’ be angry, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “What’s that, Love?”

  “Well, ah...I think we agreed that if the baby turned out to be a boy, we’d call him George, after you. That was okay, but I had to give a last name too...and, I...I gave him mine!”

  George sat bolt upright and choked out. “Why Lydia?! Why did you do that?!”

  He could see tears welling up in her eyes.

  “We...we’re not married, and it’s legal to give the mother’s maiden name,” she sobbed.

  “Now, wait a minute--married or not, our son's going to have my name, and besides...”

  “Oh, George,” she interrupted, smiling through her tears. “I just wanted to hear you say it. I wasn’t sure. They said we could change it to your name if we did it before the records went out.”

  “What do I do?” he demanded, a little irritated at the adorable girl on the bed.

  “Just ring for the nurse,” she said, smiling as she handed him the buzzer cord. She still

  wondered if he might change his mind, but he took it and pressed the button without hesitation.

  The nurse came in immediately. She looked as if she knew why she’d been called and gave Lydia a wink.

  George said in very positive tones. “The child’s name is George Bertram Potter the Second.

  The nurse smiled, went over to where George sat and gave the surprised graduate student a kiss on the cheek.

  “Of course that’s his name. I knew it all the time.” Then in a more serious tone she added. “I think it would be best if you let Lydia sleep. Why don’t you go next door and have some breakfast? You should be able to see your family again in an hour or so.

  “I am a little tired, George.’ sighed Lydia. “Maybe you should let me rest be for a while.”

  George nodded with an understanding grin. He had important decisions to discuss with Lydia but decided they could wait a while longer. He gave Lydia a gentle kiss and turned to the nurse.

  “You said there’s a place to eat next door?”

  “Yes, the Happy Pancake. Out the front door, turn left and it’s a half block down.”

  “Thanks, I guess I could use some breakfast,” said George. He patted Lydia’s knee and she took his hand.

  “ George...I love you.” she whispered as he got up to leave.

  George made his way through the lobby. Old Witchie-Bitch Looked up, gave him her best look of disgust and returned to her paperwork. George was too full of the wonder of fatherhood to let her dampen his spirits.

  As he walked happily out into the early Oakland dawn and down the steps he had to resist the impulse to skip the half block to the Happy Pancake.

  The eatery was one of the usual fast food outlets, prefabricated of pseudo-wood, glass and plastic. George pushed the door open and was greeted by a rush of food smells tinged with the odor of rancid fat. He was so hungry, he didn’t even notice the sign in the window inviting all comers to: Play Breakfast Bonanza and Win up to Three Thousand Dollars!

  THREE

 

  George stepped up to the counter and was greeted by a sleepy eyed young lady. Dressed in an orange and yellow uniform, her name-tag read--Agnes. As she wiped her perspiring face on her sleeve, she did her best to give him a weak smile.

  “Yes sir, may I help you?” she said.

  George ignored her question for a moment. He was so proud, he had to announce to her he was the father of a brand new baby boy. The young lady showed a great lack of enthusiasm at this bit of news.

  George thought, Probably get a lot of new fathers in here, Then added aloud. “The hospital recommended your establishment as an excellent place to partake of some sustenance.”

  The girl gave him a blank look, thought for a moment and then made a stab at a reply.

  “S--Susti-nuts?” she stuttered. “ I don’t think we have that on the menu,” and glanced at the list on the wall behind her.

  “Oh, sorry,” smiled George at her discomfiture. “Well then, how about something for breakfast. What do you suggest?”

  It was obvious the poor girl was reluctant to make decisions. Her weak smile faded and she scratched her head as she thought for a moment.

  “How about some Happy Pancakes, scrambled eggs and sausage?” she inquired tentatively.

  “Whatever you say,” replied George. He was starved and willing to try anything.

  “Fine, sir, If you’ll just have a seat, your food will be ready in a few minutes.”

  George took a table near the window and the girl called back his order to the assembly line. He was the lone customer in the place when Miss Agnes came over to pour him a cup of coffee. He thanked her and sipped his coffee as he looked out at the awakening city. The streets were still in deep shadow, but the sky to the east was brightening and people were beginning to scurry about, hurrying to work or hustling to get ready for the day.

  George saw none of the early morning bustle. His mind was full of other things: His new family, his new responsibilities, and Lydia. Lydia! What a terrific girl she was! What a beautiful life they had together! He thought about how they’d first met--on the UC Berkeley

  campus.

  The dirty window he was looking through dissolved away and he was projected back to that moment one and a half years ago. It was a hot day, he remembered. He’d headed for his favorite tree, brown bag in hand. The tree was off the main traffic patterns and he usually had it all to himself. But, today there was a girl sitting under his tree--a beautiful girl!

  He stopped a short distance away. She was concentrating on a text book as she absently munched a sandwich. The girl didn’t see him at first, so he had a chance to study her. George had never been so impressed by the mere look of a girl before. She was very pretty, yet there was an open honesty in her face that was different from the flighty breed of coed he knew.

  There was no doubt about it. He had to meet this girl. Several devious plans seeped through his mind, but he discarded them. He didn’t want to rush her. That might scare her off.

  Then he saw her paper bag lu
nch and remembered his own. It wasn’t much of an excuse for conversation, but better than none. He moved closer to her, and clearing his throat, made a profound opening statement:

  “Hot,” he said, mopping his brow.

  The girl looked up.

  Would you look at those baby blues?! he observed to himself as their eyes met.

  The girl said nothing and George plunged on with his suave, though one sided conversation.

  “Do you brown-bag often?” he inquired.

  She nodded, but still said nothing as she went back to her book..

  He pursued his quest. “It’s a very warm day. May I borrow a bit of your shade?” It was damned warm, but the girl seemed cold and indifferent toward him. She didn’t seem to want him around at all. It was embarrassing. He could feel the blood creep up under his beard as he blushed. He hesitated a moment, then with a burst of determination, decided to go ahead and sit. It was his tree, after all.

  She didn’t react to his move, but he had the distinct impression she was on her guard. Was he that creepy looking?

  It was true--her first impression of George wasn’t as favorable as his of her. With his long hair, black beard and clean but scruffy shirt and coveralls, he looked like a hippy--the genuine article.

  Later, he learned that she was from the midwest where hippies were rare, and she’d heard strange tales about them. Her parents narrow minded attitude and exacting code of behavior also affected her first impression of him.

  They didn’t say much to each other at first, but finally George took the bull by the horns and began a monolog about his field--political science.

  Soon she began to see more than his rough facade. There was a modesty about him and an easy sense of humor the made her feel comfortable in his company. She could see that he was attractive under his beard. His finger nails were clean and clipped and he sat close enough for her to smell the fresh soap scent about him.

  At last, just before the buzzer rang for the next class period, she spoke. Wonderful words flowed from her lovely lips. He’d been waiting anxiously for her to speak and any sound she made would have been music to his ears. He learned that she was at UC Berkeley to study journalism and this was her first semester.